


i won't go, i can't do it on my own

by Milzilla



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 07:31:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18633631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milzilla/pseuds/Milzilla
Summary: alex tries to let go by giving back the pieces of michael he's kept





	i won't go, i can't do it on my own

**Author's Note:**

> this was completely and utterly inspired by a [post made over at tumblr](https://rawandmessyandbeautiful.tumblr.com/post/184496310495/season-two-is-alex-giving-michael-the-piece-of). all credit for the inspiration goes to them.
> 
> also, hey. it's another "they take time to come back to each other" post s1 fic. will i just be writing these for the entire hiatus? whomst the fuck knows. enjoy!!

It starts with small things.

It really should be the other way around, Alex muses. The more emotional stuff should come first, but if feels easier to do it this way. To let go this way.

It starts with leaving a key ring in the mailbox at the junkyard. The small note attached just says: _you left this in my car_.

It's not a grand gesture and given the silence that follows it, he assumes that Michael has realised that as well.

*

Next, it's an old t-shirt of Michael's that he'd left the airstream wearing once, when his own had been ripped in the urgency of _touchmeplease nowgetthisoff_. He hasn’t been wearing it or anything like that but he has kept it tucked in the back of a draw when he probably should have gotten rid of it months ago.

Alex doesn't want to be pathetic but he buries his face in the coarse fabric, inhaling once, twice, before leaving the house with it tucked under his arm.

He leaves it in the passenger seat of Michael's truck, which is hardly ever locked. The note this time says: _not that you can tell, but it’s been washed. buy some new shirts, guerin._  


*

He finds the photos in one of his moving boxes, stored in the cabin’s bunker. He doesn’t feel the same depth of devastation when he looks at his younger self now, knows that it has come with time as well as considerable effort. The sight of Michael though, bright and young and smiling without the weight of the world on his shoulders (not _no_ weight, Alex realises now, Michael had never been free of troubles) makes tears form at the corners of his eyes.

He lets himself grieve for a few minutes. Then, the photos go into an envelope.

Alex looks at the backpack in the corner of the bunker, thinks about the shining piece of alien ship contained in the leather. He nearly reaches for it, considers just giving it over with this latest return, but something stops him.

He leaves it.

*

“Please, Maria. Just give it to him.” He shakes the envelope in her direction.

Maria looks at him oddly, shakes her head. “Alex, we’re not -- didn’t he tell you?”

Alex’s pretence drops. “Tell me what?”

“Our relationship imploded about five minutes in,” she explains, and there’s only a little bitterness there. “A few seconds after the little green men revelation.”

Something twists in Alex’s stomach. He doesn’t want to think about what might have happened if Michael had told him this, doesn’t want to think about what it means that he didn’t.

“I didn’t know, Maria. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you apologise to me, Alex Manes,” she says sternly. “One of us owes apologies and it’s not you.”

That’s when he realises that she’s been cleaning the same spot on the bar top since they started speaking, her hands shaking. He reaches over and puts one hand on top of her, stilling her.

“I was so mad, Maria,” he says carefully. “I’m still mad. It’s just going to take -- time.”

She grips his hand and nods. “Whatever you need. I mean it. As much beer as you can drink.”

That rips a bark of laughter from him. “I’m not above taking a bribe.”

He smiles at her and she smiles tentatively back. One day it won’t hurt to look at her.

*

Eventually, he manages to wipe Michael, Max, and Isabel off of Project Shepherd’s system. It wasn’t as simple as deleting their files or removing any digital trace of them, not when he had no idea how many people had _read_ the files, not to mention if there were any physical copies. Instead, he had to slowly and systematically remove all traces of suspicion from each of the three aliens, _proving_ that they were human and non-threatening.

It takes weeks but it’s worth it for when he can take the physical copies of their files, NON-THREAT CIVILIAN stamped across each one, and pack them into a folder.

He leaves the folder in the airstream, knows not to risk leaving this one out in the open. This time he sticks a post-it note to the top that reads: _the least i could do to make up for my father. you’re safe now_.

It almost feels like the final piece of the puzzle, like in doing this for all three of them he can finally let go of Michael and what he wants, what Michael so clearly doesn’t want anymore. He knows there’s one piece left though, sitting in a bag in a bunker under his cabin. And if he takes another week or two to finally deliver it; the only person who knows it is himself.

*

Michael isn’t there when he finally decides that it’s time, so he waits in one of the chairs outside the airstream with the bag in his lap. He realises belatedly that he should have called or texted or something, and the feeling of waiting is almost too painfully familiar. Before he can change his mind though, Michael’s truck rolls in to the junkyard.

“Alex.” His expression is surprised, incredibly wary. He comes to stand across from Alex and his expression doesn’t change when Alex rises to his feet.

“I have something of yours.”

Michael looks hip up and down, calculating. “Not the first time.”

“No,” Alex agrees. “This one is -- important.” He holds the bag out, notes how careful Michael is in making sure that their fingers don’t touch.

He keeps his eyes on Alex while he unzips the bag, only breaking away to look down. His expression does something complex, foreign to Alex except for the hurt that he sees there. He resists the urge to begin explaining the hows and whens of it all.

“Why now?” Michael demands.

He thinks about lying, maybe making an excuse about how he’d been angry or he didn’t think it was safe but that all falls away and in the end, there’s only the truth.

“Because it’s the last thing I have of you,” he admits. “The last piece of you I have to let go of.”

Michael’s face goes through a complicated, impressive amount of expressions. He grips the backpack tightly and then drops it to the ground. The piece falls half-out onto the ground and Alex winces.

“So, you’ve finished with the torture then?” Michael asks, and he’s angry. It’s the emotion that Alex has been expecting but it doesn’t feel right, feels out of step, and Alex can't figure out what he’s missed. “Have you decided I’m free now?”

“W-what?” He doesn’t know how to _begin_ responding to that.

“This.” Michael waves a hand, sneers. “The files, the photos, the fucking _shirt_. You’re sarcastic as shit, Alex, but you’ve never been cruel.”

Alex is still reeling, trying to catch up in whatever race he’s unwillingly been apart of. “What are you talking about -- cruel?”

Michael shakes his head. “I couldn’t figure it out at first. Thought maybe you’d heard about me and Maria --” a light-speed micro-expression, guilt or something similar “--that you were trying to reach out. Then they just got more -- I guessed after the photos, that you were trying to hurt me. I didn’t say anything because I deserved it but _fuck,_ Alex.” He looks down at the piece of spaceship on the ground.

Oh. _Oh_. Alex wants to hit himself. Or gather Michael into his arms and hold him until neither of them are breathing separately. He’s not sure which is the more powerful impulse right now.

“Oh, Michael.”

Michael’s head snaps up at the sound of his name. He frowns. “Don’t. I don’t want your _pity_ , I just want --”

“I was trying to let you go,” Alex blurts out. “I couldn’t do it all at once so I did it bit by bit. I thought by the time that I got to this--” he motions to the bag on the ground, can’t finish the thought because it’s _too much_ , changes tact instead. “You never said anything. I thought you understood.”

Michael lets out a laugh of disbelief and runs a hand down down his face. “Jesus christ, Alex. This whole time I thought you were--”

“I’m sorry.”

“And then with this,” he gestures to the piece of ship. “I thought you were telling me to go.”

Alex pales. Takes a step forward. Steps back again. “No,” he says, panicked now. “Never. Not unless that’s what _you_ wanted.”

Michael fixes him with a look then, eyebrow raised. “Depends.”

“On what?” he asks desperately.

“You said this was the last thing.” Michael nudges the bag on the ground with the toe of his boot. “You let go of me now?”

Alex wrings his hands and looks around the junkyard wildly for the answer. When he doesn’t find anything else, he stalks towards Michael purposefully. Michael, to his credit, stands stiff as a post and doesn’t react as Alex takes the black hat off his head and marches back to his car.

“Alex, what --”

Alex pulls open the passenger door, throws the hat inside, and slams it closed again. Michael is watching him very carefully, loose curls now blowing in the breeze, frozen in a half-aborted movement like he’d wanted to reach for Alex but wasn’t sure of his footing.

“I lied,” Alex says, breathless. “I still have something of yours. It’s in the car, if you want it.”

It’s such a stupid move, and he’s only made more aware of this by Michael marching towards the car. Alex refuses to look away, holds his gaze stubbornly, even as he wants the ground to swallow him whole.

Then Michael’s grabbing him by his jacket and pushing him against the door of his car. He holds Alex against it, just breathing the same air for a count of one, two, three. Alex waits.

“Unbelievable,” Michael murmurs, then surges forward.

Alex knows they should talk more. They will. But right now it’s Michael’s lips on his and Michael’s belt buckle pressed against him. It’s their laboured breathing and their laughter as they make their way across to the dirt and up the stairs of the airstream. It’s them pushing the jackets from their shoulders, pulling their shirts over their heads, Michael crowding him against the door and dropping to his knees with that look of determination in his eyes. It’s Alex’s fingers tight in those curls as Michael takes him apart with nothing but the wet heat of his mouth.

It’s pushing into Michael so slowly that he feels like he might burn away with the want tugging at the bottom of his stomach, rocking into him until he’s squirming and whining and begging beneath him. It’s pressing their foreheads together as he loses himself in the sensations, only coming back to himself long enough to wrap his hand around Michael’s cock and chase him into that sweet bliss.

After, they lie together on the tiny mattress, though they barely notice the size since they’re pressed so closely together. Michael’s leg is swung over Alex’s hip, pressing him into the bed and keeping him close.

“You can give me my hat back, you know,” Michael drawls, and Alex has to fight to keep himself still, to not panic.

“How do you figure?” he asks, as casually as he can make the question sound.

Michael goes soft. “Because you’ve got something else of mine,” he says, curling further into Alex and reaching a hand up. He places a hand on Alex’s chest, just above his heart. “And you can’t give this one back.”

Alex has to close his eyes against the wave of giddiness - of _responsibility_ \- that the statement makes him feel.

“ _Michael_ ,” he murmurs, reverent.

“How does that fit in with your little plan?” His gaze is wary but he doesn’t pull his hand away.

Alex reaches up to fold his hand over Michael’s, squeezing tightly. “I think I can live with that.”


End file.
